


Bards and Banquets

by tupti



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Says "Hmm", Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sexual Assault, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, it's more on the fluff side actually, nothing graphic at all, slight mentions of body horror I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23158093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tupti/pseuds/tupti
Summary: Geralt learns a harsh truth about the kind of life his bard leads and is determined to change it for the better.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 854





	Bards and Banquets

God, he hated these banquets. How did Jaskier always manage to talk him into them? Too many people, too much noise, just… too much everything. Geralt would always prefer the quiet loneliness of the woods. He’d rather be surprised by an army of ghouls than sit among bickering noble men and women for one second longer. At least the ghouls were honest about wanting to eat him up.

Jaskier had announced a short recess a while ago. With a smile and a flourish he had promised his adoring audience that he’d be back momentarily and had snuck away to get some fresh air, as he called it. He probably was snogging someone in a dark corner though. Although he had been gone for a long time now… Maybe more than a snog? Geralt didn’t mind, because he knew that in the end, the bard would fall asleep in his arms and would kiss him awake in the morning. Then again, a conquest _during_ a performance wasn’t Jaskier’s style. The aristocracy loved him and he loved bathing in their adoration and usually didn’t leave it for longer than absolutely necessary to rest his voice and fingers.

The longer he pondered this, the uneasier Geralt became. He casually started strolling around the hall, twisting his head here and there, not particularly searching for Jaskier, just keeping a look out. Maybe his steps became a little quicker, his head movements more erratic when he did not find the bard anywhere, not even in the dark corners of the alcoves. He didn’t _worry_ per se – Witcher’s didn’t worry – he just… very much wanted to know where Jaskier was, just in case he had gotten himself into trouble again. That wasn’t worry, that was caution.

He went out to the terrace that overlooked the gardens. The cold winter air made his skin tingle after the sticky warmth of the great hall where the fires were blazing and the many dancing bodies were heating up the room even more. His breath turned into white clouds and drifted away. In the moonless night Geralt’s eyes could still scan their environment in minute detail. It seemed that nobody was out here. Who would be, in the dark and the cold? The Witcher was about to turn his back, when his hunting senses suddenly tingled. Something at the edge of his hearing, a sound just beyond his grasp. He followed his instincts and hurried down the stairs. He cut through the garden in a straight line across a path that meandered in dainty bows and loops inbetween empty flower beds. There! That was definitely a noise – a whimper, barely audible to human ears.

Geralt zeroed in on a grove at the far end of the park. He walked faster. He heard panting, he heard grunting. Then a muffled scream, as if hindered by a hand. He recognised the voice and started running. A gasp for air, words whispered in a raspy, unpleasant snarl. Geralt tore through the undergrowth.

A man whirled around. His coarse hand held Jaskier by the throat. The bard was clawing at the man’s chest and tried to wriggle free, but his opponent was a foot taller than him and built like an ox. Geralt noticed his unbuckled pants and the clearly visibly erection – and short-circuited.

When he came to his senses again, the man was lying on the floor gasping for breath, eyes glazed with pain, hands covering his crotch. One of his legs sprawled out in a weird and hopefully excruciating angle. The Witcher curled his fingers into tight fists. He usually didn’t kick those already down, but in this case… He might have murdered the man, if Jaskier hadn’t whimpered softly from where he had tumbled into a bush. Geralt hurried to his side, kneeled down next to him and gently brushed his hair from his face.

“You okay?”, he asked while taking stock himself. A cut on Jaskier’s lip, a black eye, bruises around his throat and what looked like two broken fingers. Geralt growled deep in his throat. “He will pay for this.”

“I’m fine”, Jaskier panted. “Fine, really. I just need some rest. I’ll be fine.”

That didn’t convince the Witcher. In one smooth move he got up, turned around and kicked the ox so hard in his side that he felt the ribs shatter underneath his boot. The man screamed in pain and it made Geralt’s heart sing. This! This was a monster that needed to be put down! He got ready for a second blow, when he felt gentle fingers around his hand.

He turned and faced Jaskier who had hobbled over to him on unsteady feet.

“Don’t”, he said. “He’s not worth it.” He tugged at Geralt’s hand. “Get me out of here. Please.”

The Witcher’s face softened and he wrapped his fingers around Jaskier’s. Then he sneaked his arm around the bard’s waist to lead him back to the house. He walked slowly, but refused to be picked up and carried, so Geralt matched his pace, keeping his eyes on the bard every step of the way. It was painful to watch. It seemed to take forever until they had reached their guest room on the second floor. With a groan Jaskier fell down on the bed. He let Geralt strip him down to his undergarments and put a blanket over him.

“Thank you”, he mumbled.

Geralt growled. “You took me with you to protect you. I failed.”

“No! No...” Jaskier shook his head vigorously. “Don’t think that.” His voice was hoarse from the strain his throat had taken and that didn’t make Geralt blame himself any less.

Softly he stroked the bard’s forehead. “Sleep. Tomorrow you’ll feel better.”

Jaskier was exhausted. A whole day of travelling, an evening of entertaining a roaring crowd and now this. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, fitful though his dreams were. Geralt stayed by his side and held his hand and calmed him down best he could.

When it seemed that the bard had finally slipped into a dreamless slumber, Geralt hurried to their host’s chamber. Her guards were unwilling, at first, to let him in – a man, so obviously enraged, at that time of night. But the Witcher could be very persistent.

Their host, Lady Parlys, seemed hardly perturbed at his presence. She had just left her party and was peeling of her make-up while Geralt told her of what had transpired in the grove of her garden.

“So, that’s why the bard never returned, even though he so beautifully promised.” She turned around to look Geralt over. “I paid for him for a whole evening, you know.” Geralt hmmm’d and his jaw almost cracked from clenching. She rolled her eyes. “Alright, alright. Morkus!” She called her chamberlain. “Tell the guards to look for an injured man in the grove and bring him to the cells.” The chamberlain hurried off and she turned to Geralt again. “From you description I bet you, it was Lord Hernon. He _is_ quite the brute. New money, you know.” She sighed. “He will have to be put to trial, fairly and without prejudice. Our laws demand it that way. But I assure you, Witcher, I will see to it that he will get punished. If he cannot keep his balls in his trousers, he cannot keep them at all.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows. “Castration?”

“What, you think it overly harsh?”

His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. That had gone better than he had dared to hope.

  
  


The sun had barely risen when Geralt was startled by a loud knock at the door. Jaskier’s eyelids fluttered, but his soft snoring continued. The Witcher gently pulled his hand from the bard’s, where it had rested since his return from Lady Parlys’ chambers, and made his way to the door. When he opened it, three man stared down at him and they didn’t need to tell him that they were Lord Hernon’s sons. The resemblance was quite striking.

“We want to talk to the bard”, one of them demanded.

Geralt crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You can talk to me.”

“Our business is with the bard.”

“Then your business is with me.”

Lord Hernon’s son growled. “It’s three against one, Witcher. You want to do this the hard way?”

Geralt already prepared his body for a fight, when he heard Jaskier’s voice, still sore, still scratching against his ears.

“It’s alright. I’m here.” He climbed out of bed and walked up to Geralt, who slightly shook his head. The bard ignored him. “What can I do for you, noble lords?”

The cheeriness in his voice turned Geralt’s stomach. It was a voice trained to hide the truth, a voice far too comfortable for Jaskier to slip into. The three men stared at the Witcher, but when it became abundantly clear, that he wouldn’t leave, the one who seemed to do the talking, turned to the bard.

“Withdraw your accusations against our father, the honourable Lord Hernon!”

Geralt huffed. “Or what?”

“Or they will find his body in a ditch.”

“Hmmm.”

Jaskier shrugged. “Alright.”

Every eye turned on him

“No!” Geralt growled. He looked at Hernon’s sons. “No! Just… a minute.” He slammed the door in their faces and turned to Jaskier who had sat down on the bed again, rubbing his throat. The marks there had bloomed into a blueish green that made it seem like the bard’s milk white skin had gone sour.

“Jaskier.” Geralt threw his hands in the air. “The fuck?”

The bard softly shook his head. “Just leave it.”

“No.”

Jaskier sighed. “Look. Do you know what is going to happen? Because I do. We are strangers here whereas they all know each other. It’ll be like, you know, _Oh, Hernon, no, he wouldn’t! I have known him since we were kids. Yeah, he can be a bit of a rascal, but, you know, he’s a man’_ _s man_ _. Boys will be boys! What do we care for some random bard? Travelling musicians are not to be trusted, we all know that, don’t we?_ And boom, he gets acquitted and I get bugger all and can consider myself lucky, if I do not end up in a ditch. It’s always the same. You should know. People like us are fair game.”

Geralt slowly sat down next to him, processing what he had just heard.

“What do you…” His voice cracked and he had to clear his throat. “What do you mean, it’s always the same? How often does this happen to you?”

Jaskier bit his lip. Obviously that was something he hadn’t meant to let slip. He shrugged his shoulders. “Not that much. But you know, I am, if I may say so, not bad looking. People are drawn to me. Some too much so. And they know that there usually aren’t any consequences, because, well, I’m just a bard. I don’t belong to their community and, haven’t you heard? Bards are all sluts anyway. We want it like that.” He averted his eyes and looked at his toes that wiggled nervously. “It doesn’t often get _that_ far, though.”

Geralt curled his hands into tight fists. “Not often, yes? Only sometimes? This happens when you’re off on your own? And you never told me?”

“What’s to tell?”, Jaskier asked his toes. “It’s not how I want to be known.”

“That’s not the point!” Geralt sprang to his feet and Jaskier flinched as if expecting a blow. The Witcher froze, then he sighed, went down on his knees and gently took the bard’s hands in his. “You could have told me that that’s the reason you need protection.”

The bard swallowed hard. “I didn’t want you to think that the only reason I approached you back then was because I needed a bodyguard.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt leaned down and kissed his hands. “Look, Lady Parlys promised to take care of this and…”

“They always do”, Jaskier interrupted. He gently cupped Geralt’s face with both hands. “They always do. But in the end, their instinct to protect their own always wins. Because it’s what their subjects want and that’s all that matters.”

A loud knock at the door and a shout reminded them of Lord Hernon’s sons. Jaskier threw Geralt a stern glance. “Please, just let us leave. I don’t want to fight.”

The Witcher pressed his lips together, but then he nodded, albeit reluctantly. As composedly as he could manage, he rose and opened the door.

“You know”, the speaking son started. “If you stand by your accusation, nobody will believe you anyway. Everyone knows bards are whores and…”

Geralt punched him hard and Hernon’s son went down without any further sound. His brothers jumped to his defense, but Geralt made short work of them too. They were all muscle, but the Witcher had met Hirikkas with more brainpower than those two combined.

When he turned around, Jaskier stood in the door frame, arms akimbo. “ _Let us leave_ , I said, _I don’t want to fight_ , I said.”

Geralt tilted his head. “ _You_ didn’t fight.”

A smile formed on the bard’s lips that he unsuccessfully tried to hide.

“And we can still leave, if that is what you really want.”

Jaskier nodded in relief.

  
  


They made quite some miles in a short amount of time, but news travelled fast. A few towns over, huddled together in the corner of an inn, they couldn’t help but listen to a loud conversation on a neighbouring table.

“Have you heard about Lord Hernon?”

“You mean the newly made Lord Eunuch?”

“They say he wasn’t even allowed a sedative or anything. Must have screamed so loud they heard it all the way in Cintra.”

“Poor bastard.”

“Dunno. Had it coming from what I heard.”

Geralt smiled softly – a rare sight that made Jaskier’s heart flutter. “I’ll drink to that”, the Witcher muttered. His breath tingled pleasantly on Jaskier’s skin and made him giggle.

“Well, he did have it coming, didn’t he? I think, he was fair game.”

The Witcher’s smile fell and he gently stroked the bard’s bandaged fingers with his thumb. Jaskier put his undamaged hand under Geralt’s chin and tilted it upwards so he could look him in the eyes.

“The mage said they would heal smoothly. I’ll be fine, thanks to you.”

“Hmm.” Geralt leaned in and kissed the bard on his forehead. “You’ll never be allowed to banquets alone anymore, you know that.”

Jaskier laughed. “Now, that, dear Geralt, is a caveat I can definitely live with.”

  
  



End file.
